Dirty Lucre

The cop was a silhouette in his high beams as he walked past the bed of my truck. It was filled with thick yellow plastic bags, labelled RIFIUTI SANITARI PERICOLOSI in red capitals. Medical waste from Naples. I put my hands on the steering wheel and glanced at the half full pepsi bottle that I’d topped up with cheap red and left on the passenger seat. He tapped on the window.

Buonasera Signor. The landfill is back that way.”

Both of us knew it was no mistake. I’d passed the dump half an hour back. It was full of imported Milanese trash. It had looked hygienic and expensive, lit by a bruised silver moon like a dirty euro coin.